Harriet Potter and the Philosopher Stone
by Slytherin Tennis Queen
Summary: This is my first Story. Female Harry. What if Harry was a girl and what if he befriended Fred and George instead of Ron and Hermione? What if Snape didn't completely hate Harry?


**Harriet Potter and the Philosopher Stone**

**Chapter 1: Introducing Harriet Lily Potter**

_(Dream Start)_

_I hear screaming. I hear begging. I hear a high pitched cruel laugh. The screams and begs seem to be coming from a woman. Her voice sounds familiar; as though she was someone I knew but could not remember her. I try to hear what she is saying, but I am too far away to understand. Suddenly I hear a high pitched, cruel voice say some words I cannot understand and then there is a flash of green light. The woman's screams and begs have stopped. She is dead, I don't know how but somehow I just know that she is now dead and whoever that man with the cruel voice belonged to was the one to kill her. I can now hear that cruel voice laughing, laughing at what he had done to that woman. I hear the laughing become louder and louder as I try to run away. I keep running and running but no matter how far I seem to run, it doesn't seem to matter for the voice still seems to get closer and closer to me with every step I take. I can hear his laugh get crueller and amused as though he was watching me run away. I thought he was going to get me when suddenly…_

_(Dream End)_

I wake up, dripping in sweat, panting as my hand slowly rises to the scar on the left side of my forehead. I had just dreamt the same nightmare I have had since I can remember. And, as always, I wake up with a sharp pain in the scar on my forehead. Anyway, my name is Harriet Lily Potter. I am an eleven year old orphaned girl and I can honestly say that my life is hell. I have long, uncontrollably messy, black hair and electric, emerald, green eyes. I also have a lightning bolt shaped scar on the left side of my forehead that is hidden under my bangs. I was told that I got it from a car crash that my parents died in but I somehow miraculously survived. The head of the orphanage told me (when I was younger) that after my parents died, a friend of theirs put me on the doorstep of my only living relatives (who I don't know because no one has told me), who didn't want me so they payed a lot of money to the orphanage to look after me instead. I hate living here at the orphanage because everyone thinks I'm a freak and hate me for it. Not that I really mind what anyone else thinks about me but it just really makes me mad when they purposely bully me and say bad things about me behind my back when they know I am near enough to hear me. And this is all because whenever I am around strange incidents occur that are not even possibly. They blame me every time something breaks or smashes or even whenever someone gets hurt while I am around. And because of that, they always make me clean and cook at the orphanage as well as they beat me whenever something bad happens. But whenever they beat me, I happy to find that somehow all of my wounds heal over night. Whenever the head of the orphanage notices this, I am pleased to see her look disappointed and seethe in anger at the thought that I can somehow heal from anything over night. I am now brought back to reality by the pain in my back and the chill of the cold morning air sweep through the room. Everyone thinks I'm a freak and refuses to share a room with me so I am the only one in this whole orphanage with a room to myself. Although, this also comes with its disadvantages as I have the most unconfutable bed (I can feel the springs in the bed digging into my spine as pain takes form in my back. I also have the thinnest and roughest sheets in the whole orphanage, that don't even protest me a little bit from the cold and I don't even get a blanket in the winter. It was a cold but calm winter morning until I heard a fist knocking on my door. I ignore it at first, as I always do, hoping it will go away but of course don't expect it to. I am not disappointed as I hear them knock again as the head growls "Up! Get up you ungrateful little girl. Get up and help get the breakfast ready for the other children." At this, the head leaves me to get up and dress before making breakfast. I roll over and groan before getting up. I get dressed in a pair of jeans with rips in it just above my knees and a worn out purple t-shirt. I sigh before I walk out the door, knowing that this is going to be another average day in this hell of an orphanage.


End file.
